My older brother Peter broke my nose twice while we were growing up (yellow whiffle ball bat is on a constant playback on my mental TiVo). No hospital was involved. Just a terry clothe (from the dirty clothes) towel and some ice and about 15 minutes with my Mom. Good Times.
I love noses.
Like schnozzes, not recently constructed ones. Tony Ward (if you know of him, we are soul mates) rocked my socks with his beak. I like obscurity; the immperfect. the married dude sent me a pic, mostly obscured, but he had this cool looking broken nose and I could not get back to him fast enough. It's like height, weight...insignifficant...How hung is your nose?
Chris Meloni? Instant wood.
I even love them on women. Cate Blanchett...have you seen her profile?
Listen, I've been going through a lot of shit recently. I'm not going to be the blogger who cryptically forsaw his demise. (To Bart, Laura, Xiou, Big Bro. and the rest)
I kinda need some hope. You know, I'm hitting some black ice here. And I'm spinning out of control. And I think of the elixer. That bottle. 80 proof. That freaking bottle is clear but it holds so many clouded memories. Much of my life's dreams were doused by this liquid. And it boggles my mind that it still controls me. The guy on the ferry with cheap Vodka breath next to me appalls. The guy with his tie around his head who asks me to be his friend on My Space repulses me. The girl in the "Girl's gone Wild" commercial is obviously wasted beyond control.
Did they get over this hump?
Did they just start 'not drinking' one day. Tara Reid?
Is it possible not to obcess (sp.? looks weird) over this.
What is one of my favorite words?
Crestfallen.
I am my favorite word.
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